The Universal Language
by Jessica Pendragon
Summary: Cullen and the Inquisitor have a little misunderstanding about names.


The dreams claw at him, teeth gripping his mind and shredding his sanity. He screams but only blood pours forth. There is always blood. Red everywhere. _Redredre_-

"Cullen?"

Her voice is the sun bursting through the dark. The demons shriek and run from its brilliance. It pulls him from the mirk of his nightmares and into the waking world. She's settled above him, her dark hair burning like steady flames with the light from outside. A patient smile sits on pale lips as her green eyes dart across his face, searching.

He reaches up to trace the rouge clan marking on her cheek. She doesn't ask if his dreams were troubled and he appreciates her even more for it. "Ah, there you are. Good morning."

"It is now."

She makes a sound, the noise of someone who still doesn't believe their own worth. He wants to object her unspoken words, but the slumber makes him clumsy still and she is already too quick to catch. "I've brought breakfast up for you. I am going downstairs to the war room, although I doubt even Leliana and Josephine will be there this early."

"And what have I done to exclude myself from the Inquisitor's counsel?" he asks, pushing himself up to level his eyes against hers. The sun is barely peeking through the bottom of the slated windows and it surprises him to see her so wakeful at this hour.

She walks her fingers up his bare chest as she replies. "You have already given her enough to think about. In fact, she might have to come back later and ask for another debriefing."

His laughter rumbles through him. "At her pleasure, as always. I can be ready in a mom-"

"Cullen." Fingers spread, pushing into his flesh. Her touch is firm and her eyes match the intent. "Stay and eat. Take your time. There's bound to be bushels of missives to sift through since we've returned and I promise I won't peek at any of yours until you arrive."

"But-"

Her eyes turn both pleading and determined and it's a look he knows he cannot win against. "Please, for me?"

"All right."

Her smile becomes radiant and he wonders how he could have thought to deny her. Ellana bows forward and pecks her lips against his nose. It's not nearly enough. Cullen reaches out and pulls her down onto his chest, capturing her mouth with relentless affection. A hand moves to lock into her hair and tugs gently. The sweetest sigh escapes from parted lips and he thinks he has her, but the Lavellen elf rebounds away and glares at him.

"You wicked Templars, always playing with temptation," she quips with a joking lilt. She moves to get up and the world is less vibrant without her touch. "Try to behave, Cullen."

"Of course, Ella."

She jerks to a stop and it's the Inquisitor that peers at him through slits. "Who is Ella?"

"What? I...are you joking?"

The way she crosses her arms indicates otherwise.

"It's, it's just...I know it's not original, but I thought...If you don't like it..." he stumbles over his words, sweeping his legs from under the sheets to touch the cool of the floor. He's not sure if he should move towards her or run away from his own stupidity, but he wants to be prepared either way.

She shakes her head, wearing an expression as if Cullen has sprouted extra heads. "I do not understand, what does it mean? I have not heard it before."

Realization finally dawns on him in the early morning light. Sometimes he forgets that they're not from the same world. Cullen loves every bit of her and respects her culture, yearns to learn as much as he can about a people he knows so little about. But when he looks at her most times, he sees more than the marks on her face or the slope of her elegant ears. He sees something he's not thought about in a long time - a future.

He scoots towards her, glad when she accepts his hands around her waist. She's still unsure, but the imposing glare has slid from her bright eyes. "You don't shorten names, do you? Ellana to Ella. Your Keeper, Deshanna, to something like, oh I don't know, Desa?"

"Make a small name from a larger one?"

He can't help but laugh at her description. "Something like that. Haven't you ever heard Leliana call Lady Montilyet, Josie? It's a play on her name, a nickname."

She makes a noise of her own, short and exasperated. "I have heard of such things as nicknames. Varric has many names for members of the Inquisition. I had thought 'Josie' was something similar, but only Leliana seems to call her so and I didn't wish to pry into its meaning. We do not alter our given names, no."

"But you do have nicknames of sorts, like lethallan," Cullen says. "And...ma vhenan."

She twists her nose like an adorable rabbit, adverting sudden bashful eyes to her fingers. "Yes."

"I'm sorry, I know my tongue is not so graceful around your words-"

Ellana shakes her head and placates his fears with a sly grin. "Your tongue is quite skilled, Commander."

"You-" He suddenly has a very itchy spot on the back of his neck and knows it must be glowing red. Give him Venatori, siege weapons and a sword, but Maker, this woman. From nervous to devilish in mere seconds. It was enough to drive a person mad.

He loved her for it.

"Well, I suppose I could hear it again and judge it fairly," she says, the authority of the Inquisitor looking down at him from behind her upturned nose. He laughs at her overly serious demeanor as he takes her face in his hands.

"Ella," he whispers, kissing her cheek. "Ella," he says again, moving to the corner of her eye. Each time his voice ends with a caress and each time the name grows in meaning. It had slipped from his lips on accident, just a casual, half sleepy remark, but it's blossoming into something more. It's a word of worship, an exclamation of adoration. And after she has stopped his mouth from speaking with breathless kisses of her own, he realizes he never wants to call her anything different when their bodies share the same heat.

"So, do you like it?"

"I think I like it better than any word in any language ever spoken," she replies as she pushes him back down onto the bed, her free hand deftly popping buttons at the throat of her uniform.

"What about the war room? Breakfast?" he asks, teasingly, as he pulls her collar away to reveal a smooth shoulder.

"Hush," she commands, and then they are no more words.


End file.
